


Blessed

by fictive_frolic



Series: Thor One Shots [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas Party, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21816322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic
Summary: Thor knows something is wrong when you aren't excited it's Christmas, but he isn't sure how to fix it.
Relationships: Thor (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Thor One Shots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551238
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	Blessed

Thor loved being back in the training room with the Avengers. After the Second Snap and the Blip, After Thanos. After getting his life back, it felt better. He felt better. Some of the endless pain and desperate longing lifted off of his chest. 

It also brought new challenges. And Frustrations. For instance, the struggle to get his body back to what it had been. He hated to admit it but part of the reason he had adored Midgard was the adoration of its women. And Men. Now though, there was less of it and that irritated him. Still, he reflected, deflecting the team up move that Steve was doing with Tony, it wasn’t the worst. He didn’t hate his new body. He was still strong. And fast. And… And there was you. You didn’t seem to mind his soft middle. Or have any desire for that to change, as long as he was happy. And healthy. But then, you’d never seemed to notice his body before either.

And he did, in fact, really like eating. Midgardian food was leaps and bounds away from Asgard. Ever evolving. So many flavors and textures. He loved being able to sample them all.

Thor had never really known what to make of you. Not even before the snap. He admired you greatly. A Fierce warrior with a surprisingly tender heart, though, he hadn’t been meant to see that part. No one had. Thor could see that night in the back of his mind as he wandered towards the shower. It was snowing outside but that didn’t mean he wasn’t coated in sweat. And all he wanted was out of his armor and into his clean clothes. The warm water reminded him of that night, you’d found him in the shower. 

He’d been hurt on a mission. Hurt and he was angry about it. Frustrated at the foolish pride that made him ignore orders. He’d charged headlong into battle and left his comrades vulnerable and scrambling for cover. Steve had been furious and that fury had been well deserved. Thor had studied the gaping wound in his side with detached interest. It would heal. He had no real need of the medical bay he knew. Only if he wanted it to heal without a scar. But this one would be a lesson. A reminder to follow orders. He hadn’t heard you behind him. Going to your locker for something from your kit. This hadn’t been your mission. You had still been healing from the last one. One where you’d put yourself in harm’s way to protect some terrified civilians. 

“Thor!” You’d gasped, startled.

“Lady, Y/N,” he said curtly, wiping the blood off this side. “I see you’re recovering well.”

Your cheeks had heated and you looked away. As if he had rebuked you. As if you were ashamed you hadn’t been alongside all of them. He didn’t like that. You were a good fighter. There was no shame in being too injured to fight again. “I’m sorry,” he said, hissing as the corner of the towel brushed his wound. It stung. 

You’re at his side in an instant. Unphased by his nakedness which somehow makes him feel more exposed. “May I?” you ask quietly. Thor doesn’t know why but he nods. He finds your presence oddly settling. The way his mother’s had been. “Lie down,” you instruct, “This doesn’t look bad but the creature’s venom seems to be slowing down your healing factor. You’ll bleed to death if I don’t at least put some stitches in.”

Thor complies, feeling his cheeks color. He hadn’t even realized and your keen eye had seen it in an instant. He should have known. You work quickly. Efficiently. A row of neat stitches into his side like it was nothing and he hardly felt it. He was too distracted by the freckles that dot your nose and cheeks. The way your lashes brush your cheeks when you blink. When you finish and help him sit up slowly he wants to kiss you but you’re too busy cleaning up the kit. Carefully wiping up the blood and stripping off your gloves, “You should be fine in a couple days,” you tell him, “But I’d go to medical to get them taken out.”

“Thank you, My lady,” he said, claiming your hand. “What brought you down to bring my rescue?” he asked.

“I needed my coat,” you say, not looking at him.

“Ah, you go to meet a paramour,” he teases, “one your mentor Barton doesn’t approve of.”

“No,” you snort, “Nothing that interesting.”

“For what then?”

“I have Christmas presents to deliver,” you tell him simply. 

“It’s the dead of night.”

“All the better to be unseen then. Everyone should be asleep,” You smile and mischief, a childlike sweetness glows in your eyes for a moment. Infectious and warm. He can’t help but smile back, “This is a secret then?”

You wink and shrug into your coat, bundling your hair under your hat simply. “Then it will stay that way,” he chuckles, “Your secret is safe with me.”

He watched you go. Smiling to himself. He didn’t know how many gifts you had to deliver. Or where. But he knew that all over, there was going to be a little bit of magic where there hadn’t been before and the thought warmed him. Christmas brought out the best in some Midgardians. This time of year always had. The darkness drew them closer together. It opened their hearts almost as if to protect them from the horrors of the long nights. Even now. Even now that they didn’t huddle around central fires and make merry in defiance of their shivering. 

Even today, years later, as Thor stripped off his armor, he wondered. He wondered if you had gifts to give tonight. If anyone had gifts to give you. 

Thor couldn’t get a fix on you. Your face was unchanged but, like so many who had lost five years, time seemed sort of, meaningless. There was nothing of that childlike glee in your face and it stung in a way he couldn’t quite define. Like some fundamental piece of you. A piece of you no one even knew to miss, was gone. 

“FRIDAY,” he called, “Could you call a meeting for me? Excluding the lady Y/N?”

“Certainly, Sir,” she chirped, “What message shall I give the others?”

“That we have a friend in need of assistance.”

_____________

“So,” Stark said sipping coffee, “You’re saying you want us to buy and deliver literally hundreds of thousands of gifts and deliver them to poor kids all over the city?”

“Yes,” Thor said.

“And you want us to not say one word to Y/N until we’re doing it?” Steve asked.

“Yes,” he said again.

“Thor,” Natasha cautioned, “This could end really badly. Y/N didn’t really. I mean. It wasn’t a public thing. She did it in someone’s memory. Not as a public spectacle… She’d take lists from shelters and stuff. People whose requests no one took and fill as many of them as she could then drop the stuff off Christmas Eve… It was like. A months-long process getting enough money to do all of it and then hustling to get it all bought.”

Thor frowned and nodded, “Then what do we do?” he asked. 

Natasha and Bruce traded looks, “Tony,” Bruce said, “How many shelter’s lists can you get hold of?”

“All of them,” Tony snorted, “Most of them are online.”

“How many did Y/N Usually do?” Bruce asked Natasha.

Natasha sighed, “As many as she could. Usually Seven or Eight. Wherever she could find where her old Clients were, you know? Her people from legal aid. She always felt bad she couldn’t do both jobs.”

“Legal Aid?” Thor asked.

Barton nodded, “It was her other life, you know? Before she was a science experiment she was a bright little legal eagle helping get people out of shitty leases and going after bad bosses. Then the accident happened and. Well. SHIELD sent me out to go get her.”

Thor nodded, “Does anyone know why she does this?”

Natasha smiled a little, “Her Grandma,” she said, “Every year on Christmas Eve they did volunteer work.”

“Can we find the woman?”

The spy shook her head, “She’s been dead 10 years now,” she said, “Died before Y/N finished law school.”

“Why is this so important?” Bruce asked gently, mindful that Thor is getting upset. That he doesn’t understand that you might not want help. 

“She is sad,” he stated simply. You had always been hard for Thor to get a fix on. Friendly but uninterested in him. He’d only gotten one small glimpse into who you were beyond your Avenging. And it made him feel like he knew you.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, “Look, Point Break,” he said, “You’re heart’s in the right place. Really. It is but-”

“But?” he pressed, folding his arms.

“What if she doesn’t want to be your elf while you play Santa?” Rhodey snorted.

“Wait-” Barton said holding up a hand, “Tony, how many of her old clients are still nearby?”

“Why?” He asked.

“Because what if we throw a Christmas Party?”

“Bring clients here?” Tony asked.

“Whoever we can find,” Clint said nodding. 

“You do like a Party,” Pepper pointed out, nudging his arm. 

“Alright!” Tony said throwing up his hands, “We’ll do it. But only because It’s two days before Christmas and Y/N has yet to bake one single cookie. And that’s just depressing.”

Thor beamed, “Excellent, now how do we keep her from finding out?”

Natasha and Steve exchanged a look and Natasha hopped off the table easily, “Pepper, Girl’s day?”

“Yes!” she gasped, “Perfect. There’s never been a bought of seasonal depression some retail therapy can’t cure.”

_____________

Thor was giddy. Actually honest to goodness Giddy with excitement. It had been a long time since he felt that way. He’d been a boy. A young boy. Back when Odin still had both eyes. Before they’d gone to Midgard the first time. 

He’d been racing through the columns, chasing Loki with Fandral and Volstag on his heels. Loki had stolen his toy sword and he wanted it back. They were all laughing. Breathless with childish joy. Until. Until they weren’t. Until Odin had thundered at them to stop and ordered them taken away. Called them fools and declared them too old to act like hellions. After that there had been no more play. Only training. Only study. 

This. This felt like that. It was exhilarating, knowing what was coming. Knowing that in all corners of the tower, for the first time in 5 years, a proper party was going to be thrown. His old friends and many new ones in one place. The chance to maybe, hopefully, give you back some of the magic you had made for others. It makes him feel light. And the more he sees you, the more he feels like he’s doing the right thing. 

You don’t look like yourself. Not like the self he remembers. You’re quiet and withdrawn. Sad. Still nice to everyone, just. Sad. There is not Christmas tree up in your room. You aren’t singing Christmas Songs at the top of your lungs with Banner or Tony. It’s like you’re completely removed from the time of year. He hasn’t even seen you using your “Don’t Get Your Tinsel in a Tangle” mug. He’s not really sure what tinsel is. Or why it shouldn’t be tangled but, gods if it wasn’t weird. Having you back and not being carried along on a tide of Christmas Cheer starting the day after Thanksgiving. 

That he doesn’t like. So, as he stands outside your door, fidgeting and holding a plate of cookies, he hopes this helps. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and he desperately wants to try and lift you out of your funk. That moment of kindness years ago still seared into his mind. The scar left on his side, paler now and stretched out with the changes in his flesh, a souvenir. A momento. Something that, over the years, he wore as a badge. A reminder of how much he’d grown.

When the door opened, you leaned heavily on the door frame and rubbed your eyes. “Are we suiting up?” you ask confused, rubbing your eyes with a too-long sweater sleeve.

“I- no I thought you might be hungry. I hadn’t seen you all day,” he says uncertainly.

You smile a little, “Do you want to share them with me?” 

Thor blinks at you for a second. The messy hair. The sleepy eyes. The sweater that fell to your mid-thigh and the soft bare legs underneath. It looks so inviting. He nods, swallowing hard for a moment and following you as you stepped back. 

Your room was dark but for the glow of your television and a candle on the coffee table. He knew what wallowing looked like. Seeking whatever felt comfortable. Whatever numbed the pain. He watched you climb back into your nest and snuggle into a soft white faux fur blanket. Rabbit fur, he figured it was supposed to be. It looked silk soft.

Thor set the plate on the coffee table and went to your little coffee bar, helping himself to making cocoa to go with the cookies. Warmth, he decided. You needed warmth. Comfort from another person. A real person.

He watched you flip through things to watch impassively and his heart twisted. It was Christmas films. Things you’d shown to him his first Christmas on Midgard. Kindly explaining things to him when he didn’t understand. He liked the Santa creature. And the Reindeer. He liked the songs. Men finding redemption through a simple act of giving. Love lighting the way. It was comfortable if a bit dull. “What about the Elf movie?” he asks.

“Sure,” you murmur, flipping the program on easily. Thor smiles and hands you one mug and sits carefully on the sofa. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Thor felt his cheeks color. Your voice was so genuine and soft. “You’re welcome, Lady Y/N,” he hummed, satisfied. The movie plays quietly and Thor gently hands you a cookie, “Are you cold, my lady?” he asks when you shiver slightly. 

“Pretty much constantly,” you answer snorting. 

“Well,” he hums, “I may not be much to look at anymore but I am, I’m told, very warm.” He grins at you and it’s satisfying when your eyes lighten just a little and you bite your lip to keep from smiling. “Come on,” he presses gently, still teasing you gently, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

That makes you smile and you snuggle close tentatively, resting against his side with a sigh. “Thor?” you murmur after a long moment.

“Hmm?” he answers, afraid to move too much. Your cheek is resting on his belly and he’s comfortable with it. He likes knowing you’re there and cozy.

“What’s all this about?” you ask softly.

“I missed Christmas when you were gone,” he admitted, “And I miss Christmas with you now. I don’t like knowing it isn’t the same for you.”

You look up at him and he brushes hair out of your eyes gently, “I’ll be okay,” you tell him, “I mean. I’m alive. I’ve got nothing to complain about.”

Thor smiled a little, “But up here,” he said, tapping your forehead gently, “Might think that while your heart is broken. It’s okay. You can feel sad. And I’ll sit with you for a while.”

“You don’t mind?” you ask, snuggling close again.

“A beautiful woman, cookies, and some hot drinks? Gods no. That sounds like a nice way to spend a day.”

Thor isn’t lying. He’s pretty sure this might be heaven. It’s nice, holding someone. It’s nice when you doze off against him. He wraps you gently in you furry blanket and shifts you onto his lap, letting your head rest on his heart. He just lets you sleep and lets movies play. This is less about making you feel like celebrating, he realizes, and more about. About something else. About finding solace of his own. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed you. Until you were back and just. Not the same. Until you weren’t a puzzle to him anymore. Someone for him to flirt with and tell jokes to. Someone he loved flirting with precisely because you had no real attraction to him. You were a puzzle. And now? Now you weren’t. Not long ago, he would have gotten bored. It wouldn’t have been fun to watch you sleep. He’d have pressed buttons until you fell into his arms and begged him to fuck you until you were a mess of trembling limbs and bodily fluids. And there may come a day where he’ll be blessed with the opportunity to do that for you. But now? Now he wants you to rest. He knows what it feels like to be dragged down by the weight of a warzone in your mind. How it feels to FEEL so unworthy that you can’t bring yourself to do anything but lie there and rot. Because you deserve it. You deserve this suffering.

When you stir, nuzzling his chest and making some of the cutest sleepy confused sounds Thor had ever heard, He chuckles. “You snore, you know,” he hums affectionately.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, cheeks heating.

“It’s cute,” he reassures you, chucking you under the chin, “How do you feel?” 

“A little better,” you concede, “I forgot how nice it is to have someone to cuddle.”

Thor tilts your chin up gently and brushes his thumb gently against your cheekbone, “I’m happy to be of service,” he breathed, feathering a soft kiss against your forehead. Careful not to press for too much and mindful that you are, in fact, a lady in truest fashion. Your affections are not given, they are earned. 

“I like you better when you’re not being an asshole,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around him.

“Was I?” he asked, slightly surprised.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “Always so loud. And kinda mean to me.”

“Mean to you?” he frowned, He didn’t like that. He didn’t like to think he’d ever been mean to you. Even not meaning to.

“You laughed at me a lot,” you murmur, face heating. 

“I thought you were funny,” he said, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“But I wasn’t kidding.”

He chuckled and sighed, “And that, dearheart,” he says, “Is why you’re funny. Hearing you yell ‘Jesus suffering fuck, Stark,’ over comms made me laugh so hard one day that I very nearly fell right out of the sky. I didn’t expect such things to come out of a mouth that sweet.”

You snort, “Clearly you weren’t paying attention.”

“Oh but I was,” he hums, shifting you over slightly to straddle his hips and resting his hands on your lower back. “Especially after the night, you patched me up.” He doesn’t move his hands to ride up your sweater or seek the silk of your skin. He can feel you heating under his hands and he doesn’t want to push. He just wants you closer to him and he likes having women straddling his lap. Even with his belly in the way, he decides as you snuggle close and lean against him. “Such gentle hands,” he praised, taking them in his gently, “So soft. And so skilled. You’re blessed, dearheart, and we’re blessed to have you.”

When you tear up, and he pulls you gently closer, he holds you tightly, “Shh,” he soothes, “Please no tears, my lady. I mean that sincerely. And I want you to know that your mind is lying to you. Come to the Party with me tomorrow?”

“I don’t know Thor,” you murmur.

“Please?” he pleaded uncertainly, “You don’t have to stay all night. If you get tired we’ll leave. We’ll come back up here and I’ll tuck you into a mountain of soft furry blankets.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

__________________

Thor decides as he watches you sip a glass of champagne and try to stay out of sight that he likes you in red. Your red sweater, bought by Natasha, is soft and looks warm. It suits you. 

Clint catches his eye and jerks his head towards the main room, prompting him to herd you in. Thor, over your quiet protests, sweeps you into the other room, excited, he said, to show you the tree that he helped pick out. It doesn’t take long though, for your surprise to be unveiled. 

Kids, and their parents. People who grieved you. People who knew you as a friend. People you had grieved yourself, were waiting for you. And in that moment, together, as they hug you and everyone is having trouble fighting back tears, one of your kids, now almost grown takes up a song.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
Let your heart be light  
From now on your troubles will be out of sight.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
Make the Yuletide gay  
From now on your troubles will be miles away.

One by one, voices join that one child until everyone is singing the words back at you. It fills the air in ways that Thor has never heard before and won’t hear since. It’s a thank you. It is a welcome home. It is an I love you all in one. 

Here we are as in olden days  
Happy golden days of yore  
Faithful friends who are dear to us  
Gather near to us once more

Through the years we all will be together  
If the fates allow  
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough

So have yourself a merry little Christmas  
Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
So have yourself a merry little Christmas

Thor doesn’t know the song, but it doesn’t matter. As he watches the tears fall down your cheeks, all he knows is that this might have been what you needed. It might have been the reminder you needed that the things you did had mattered. That you had fought. And died. And people had noticed.

He pulls you gently into his side and uses his sleeve to wipe the tears off your cheeks tenderly. “Merry Christmas, my Lady,” he rumbles, kissing your forehead. 

“Merry Christmas, Thor,” you murmur, cheeks heating as you wrap your arms around him.


End file.
